


Night Whispers

by Nessa_T



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Angry!Bull, Angst, F/M, M/M, Sad!Dorian, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessa_T/pseuds/Nessa_T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Dorian sees Bull every night</p><p>Setting: What if Magister Halward wasn't assassinated? What if he had been successful at magically altering Dorian’s mind when Dorian went back to Tevinter for good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> I love sad stories :)

Dorian sees Bull every night. 

He sees him as clearly as he can see his reflection in the mirror when he wakes up each morning to brush his teeth. He sees Bull's form, so large and magnificent, manifesting itself right before his very eyes, like vapour forming into droplets as it kisses the cool surface of glass. He sees, even if it may be his imagination, the glint in Bull's eye as it meets his. Sees the secrets that reside in those green depth.

Dorian feels Bull as well. Every night.

He feels Bull in his room, hovering over his bed like a shadow. He feels Bull's gaze upon him, even in the pitch darkness of a room that is illuminated only by the softest light of the moon. He feels Bull's warm breaths flickering upon his skin in a soft caress: warm breaths ghosting over his flesh, sending ripples of shivers from the top of his head down to the base of his spine... and he would call out Bull's name, wanting to touch and be touched.

Bull touches him every night.

He leans forward to press his lips against the delicate shell of Dorian's ear, whispering his Night Whispers. Bull's breath flutters in his ear, tongue flicking out, laving it with wet warmth - worshipping Dorian's beauty as his long, strong fingers traces the soft line of Dorian's neck - the mage arching into the touch, making strange little noises and growls at the back of his throat as the Qunari's fingers continue its exquisite journey to his chest... and down down down to the place where Dorian needs him the most.

Bull teases him. Every single night.

He strokes the length of Dorian's hardening erection - fingers first tickling the sacs and then nimbly running up and down Dorian's cock, pausing every now and again to fondle with the weeping head of Dorian's shaft.

And Dorian begs Bull. Begging weeping moaning hoping that Bull will take him into the warmth of his mouth - Bull's mouth as warm as the sun rays and yet dark as sin, its seemingly endless cavern swallowing him whole. Swallowing, clenching, sucking upon Dorian's cock while he is helpless to resist... helpless to fight against the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through his veins as he exploded with the force of his desire, whimpering while Bull laps hungrily at every single drop that escapes his sex.

 _Kadan_ , Bull would whisper before it all goes quiet.

Then there will be silence and Dorian knows that, like a leaf in the wind, Bull has floated away to be amongst the shadows that clung to his walls like cobwebs... waiting for the passing of the approaching dawn in order to embrace darkness once more.

***

_“You’re very quiet tonight, my Lord. Are you alright?”_

_The woman sat at their dresser, brushing through her long tresses with a bejeweled comb. Her robe clung to her body, accentuating every curve and the mage could see the slim rope of her spine through the silky material._

_“Lord Pavus?” she was saying again, turning around to look at her husband. He sat quietly by the edge of their bed, frowning into his hands. He had his fingers balled into fists so tight his knuckles bled white._

_“I... It feels strange. Like I have forgotten something. Something important,” he was saying. Brows furrowed, he cocked his head before sliding a long look at his wife._

_The woman smiled, and tossed her mane of hair. Slowly, seductively, she stood up and slid her robe off those milky white shoulders and stepped towards him._

_He felt his blood run cold._

_“I…,” he began to say._

_“Hush,” she said, straddling his thighs before pulling him into a long kiss._

_There was a knot in his chest. Almost like sadness._

_He couldn’t remember why._

***

_Where is he?_

_Bull._

_Where is he!?_

_Back in Qarinus. Bull, I have only just received the letter from Magister Halward. Dorian married his bethrothed when he returned home after the Exalted Coucil. Apparently they had been promised to each other since birth, and the Magister was anxious for them to sire an heir as soon as possible. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Bull._

_I’m bringing him home._

_Bull._

_He couldn’t have wanted this! I’m bringing him home. With or without your consent. With all due respect, but right now, boss? I’d really, REALLY like for you to get the FUCK out of my way._

***

The night has fallen once more. The shadows embracing the darkness eagerly as they dance across the room animatedly, rejoicing in the death of the sunlight.

In the night, the Darkness triumphs. No pain exists. No memories. No haunting from the past.

And in the corner of the room, a mist is once again taking shape, like vapour forming into droplets as it kisses the cool surface of glass.

Dorian sees Bull every night.

He welcomes the shadow with a smile and Bull… Bull always smiles back.

Always.


	2. The Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian fights to regain his memories.
> 
> A study in colour: White, Green, Red, Grey and Black. Horns Up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still experimenting with writing styles. 
> 
> I'm thinking this needs a proper series as a follow up. I'll be working on that soon. Bull really needs to save his Amatus.

White  
=====

The sounds made by water dripping from his face into the basin was his only companion as a man stood silently before the mirror that hung precariously upon the wall. He gingerly perched upon the balls of his feet trying to peer through the glass into the world beyond. He saw but could not comprehend, settling instead to contemplate upon the world that was presented before him. The world behind the thin barrier of cool glass and gleaming silver.

A face. A face behind the smooth surface of glass, close yet elusive like the lingering threads of sanity after a lifetime of wandering in the dark abyss. It didn’t make sense. “Who are you?” he thought. Yet there was no answer.

A mirror upon the wall. A reflection. A picture of a reality that he could not touch, taste or smell.

He raised a trembling hand and placed it upon the surface of the mirror. The man behind the glass did the same.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, peering into those steel-grey eyes and lips that were pressed into a thin, grim line.

Yet the silence still reigned, pressing against his ears like a deafening echo, leaving him with the biting sense of loneliness.

There was no one there. There was nothing but an illusion behind that barrier of glass. 

Green  
=====

“Talk to me,” he said again, his voice louder and just a little shaky. “Who are you?”

But the face changed; a grotesque contortion of the visage into a mask of Fear and the man stepped back, sickened. With his heart pumping a quick, irritable staccato in this chest, he watched as the man behind the glass did the same, echoing his every footstep; his every move. Echoing his every breath.

Are they the same? Both him and that man in the mirror? What could it mean?

“Who am I?” he asked instead, his eyes wide, discerning the reaction of his reflection. No answer. There was no answer in the mirror.

(I am no one.)

“Who am I?” he gritted out, stepping up to the sink, shaking with suppressed rage as his hands balled into fists by his sides.

A spark. A spark of recognition in those haunted eyes before it flitted away like a transient butterfly hovering over the petals of a red, red rose. 

“Who am I?” he had asked. 

(Hey, Kadan)

He couldn’t find the answer behind that barrier of glass.

Red  
====

“Fuck you!” he snarled, grabbing the mirror from its place upon the wall before hurling it onto the floor where it shattered into tiny, silver pieces.

(Dorian? Amatus? Your father has arrived for dinner.)

And then there were hundreds of them. Hundreds of the same, hideous faces looking out at him, all of them with red-rimmed eyes and crying mouths, upon every surface of the broken pieces of

_sanity_

glass. 

The crying intensified; the blood-curdling quality of it reverberated in the enclosed space, piercing into his ears like an arrow.

He clutched his fists to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, desperate to block out the sound. But the echo… the echo swelled and smothered him, drowning him out before it fades away, leaving nothing behind

(Amatus? Are you alright?)

but soft, trembling sighs.

Grey  
=====

He opened his eyes to look at the faces peering back at him.

(Dorian! Open the door! Get his father here. Quickly!)

And there he was. Amongst the slivers of silver. The grey man with one eye. They shared a smile.

“Horns up,” he whispered.

(The door smashed open)

He reached out a shaking hand to pick up one of the broken fragments of 

_sanity_

glass and gently cradled it in his palm. 

“Come back,” he then murmured before pressing the shard of 

_sanity_

glass against his cheek.

(Dorian! Livia, fetch the healers. Now!)

“Come back,” he choked out again before servants grabbed his wrists in an iron grip and pinned him against the wall.

(Livia! Where are the healers!?)

(They’re here now, Father. Oh Maker, there’s blood everywhere!)

Exhaustion seeped through his very bones and the darkness beckoned, embracing him like a lover’s touch.

(Dorian, please. Let the mirror go. Livia, leave the room, please. And do not return till I tell you to)

(But…)

(Do as I say, child. Dorian is not well.)

“Horns up,” he said again, smiling through red. And then began to laugh.

(Magister Halward?)

(Prepare the ritual. Now!)

He turned to his father and spat at him.

“Horns up!” 

(Now!)

Sleep. He welcomed it willingly and before long, everything faded to 

Black  
======

_It was quiet now. Too quiet. The woman entered the bedroom, her eyes wide with apprehension. Her husband had been sedated with herbal tea and was sitting at the edge of their bed. He was calm as the healers worked quickly to tend to the angry gashes on his face and hands._

_Dorian nodded at her in acknowledgement. He was smiling._

_“Everything is going to be fine now, child,” Magister Halward said. He looked drained and tired._

_“What happened, Father?” she asked._

_“He had been through so much since his time in the Inquisition. These… memories haunt him sometimes. I have helped him forget. For a while.”_

_She approached her husband, took his hand and kissed it fondly. They were cold, and limp. Dorian was still smiling. Content now._

_“I was so worried about you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his face and running fingers through his hair._

_“Everything is going to be fine. Father fixed me, Amatus,” Dorian answered, squeezing her hand tightly._

_“I’ll call on you again, Livia dear,” Halward said, straightening his back and peering down into his son’s face. “Every two weeks. I need to… make sure he doesn’t have a relapse.)_

_Dorian just smiled and smiled._

_“Are you alright, son?”_

_Dorian looked at his father in the eyes._

_“Never better, Father,” he said, still smiling as an errant tear slipped quietly from the corner of his eye._

***

The night had fallen once more. The shadows embraced the darkness eagerly as they danced across the room, rejoicing in the death of Light. 

In the night, the darkness triumphed. No pain existed. No memories. No haunting from the past.

And in the corner of the room, a mist is once again taking shape, like vapour forming into droplets as it kisses the cool surface of glass


End file.
